


Because I Commanded you to (because I'm fucking petty, that's why)

by orphan_account



Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hypnotism, M/M, Mild Blood, Pishtaco au, Swearing, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 20:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12176076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Aron has been using Jorel for years.





	Because I Commanded you to (because I'm fucking petty, that's why)

**Author's Note:**

> I have fallen into this au started by shakethatasshollywood and kittenpopper on the tumble_dot_fuck. I wasn't even meant to get this deep into the HU fandom what is happening to me.
> 
> Knowing names is useful;  
> Jorel Decker (Jorelly, J-puppy, Puppy, J-D); J-DOG  
> Aron Erlichman; DEUCE  
> Arina Erlichman; ARINA CHLOE  
> Aron and Arina's parents  
> Matthew Busek (Curls, Band Bitch); DA KURLZZ  
> Jeffery Phillips; SHADY JEFF  
> George Ragan (The third man, Georgie-Porgie); JOHNNY 3 TEARS  
> Jordon Terrell; CHARLIE SCENE  
> Dylan Alvarez (Dilly-Doo); FUNNY MAN  
> Daniel Murillo; DANNY
> 
> This fic jumps around time a bit, so there's a summary at the end to put it in chronological order for you.

**Part 1; What. The. Fuck.**

“Jorelly, wait!”

Jorel froze, feet glued to the ground. His shoulders shook as he forced himself forwards but his legs couldn’t move, half-statue. It was the evening before Hollywood Undead set off for their first tour with new kid Danny. Jorel had been actively avoiding Aron from the moment he’d been officially kicked out.

Aron’s footsteps scuffed on the old asphalt as he rounded Jay. The park the pair had met at as kids has been left to rot and rust as a nicer park was built five minutes away, bigger and brighter and better. The council are still debating what to do with the asphalt half-acre.

“What do you want?” Jorel spat.

“To talk to you,” Aron said, “And you’re gonna listen to me, Jorelly.”

“Don’t call me that. I ain’t listening to anything you’ve got to say.”

“You are. I Commanded you to.”

“What the actual _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?!”

Aron grinned wide. His jawbone twitched and his canines seemed to just drop down as they elongated, sharp and white and far too big for his already too-big teeth.

Jorel repulsed back in shock, his legs still frozen, and he almost sent himself sprawling backwards. “What the fuck!”

Aron chuckled, low and nasal. His breath whistled between his fangs.

“What the fuck are those?”

“Teeth, stupid,” Aron’s voice developed a soft lisp. He let the forced smile drop, and the fangs didn’t even fit into his mouth, tips scraping down his lower lip.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jorelly, say something else!”

“Something else.”

Aron pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, that one was my fault.”

“What the fuck?”

“Deep breath, Jorelly.”

Jorel breathed in until his ribs hurt and sighed it out. “What the fuck are those?”

“Teeth. I’ve just said that, keep up J-pup.”

“Are they real?” Jorel leant closer, blinking at the fangs. They were hard to see, the closest dim street light several yards away.

“As real as the rest of me. Wanna feel?”

Jorel raised a hand and reached for Aron’s face. Aron rolled his eyes but let his jaw hang open. Jorel traced a soft finger down the curve of a fang, gum to tip. It held as hard as a living tooth should. The sharp tip nicked Jorel’s fingertip and he flinched away, cradling the hand to his chest.

“Did you think I was pulling a fucking prank on you?” Aron said.

“Are you gonna eat me?” Jorel said, leant as far away as his frozen legs would let him.

“Already have, J-pup.”

“Not like that! I meant with your teeth.”

Aron snorted. “I already have.”

Jorel cupped his crotch in horror.

“Not there! Here,” Aron pulled Jorel’s shirt up and gave his side a soft smack, just above the hip.

Jorel twisted, rubbing at the area. He couldn’t see anything, but a pair of scabs on his back ripped open under his nails. Blood smeared over his fingertips and he whipped the hand behind his back, glaring Aron down.

“I’m not gonna eat you, Jorelly, calm down.”

Jorel took another breath, and his nerves dissipated like smoke as he let it out.

“There we go.”

“Why can’t I move?”

“You can. Hi-five, Jorelly!”

Jorel’s arm moved before he could tell it to, smacking his hand against Aron’s hard enough for his hand to sting. Aron didn’t even flinch.

“What the _fuck_!”

“Back to that again?”

“Why did I do that?”

“Because I Commanded you to.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Aron grinned and slung his arms around Jorel’s shoulders. Jay flailed his arms, not daring touch him as Aron’s face hovered not even an inch away from his own.

“I’ve been controlling you for years, J-pup,” Aron said, “And it all went to my head.”

* * *

**Part 2; Arina could have been seriously hurt**

Aron was ten when his mother first taught him how to Command. Starting with weakening the victim’s state of mind, Aron only needed to look his victim in the eye and focus fully on his Command as he said it. Their mother left him with Arina to practice for the afternoon, Arina’s eight-year-old naivety and trust in her older brother leaving her with an already weak enough state of mind. Their father called an end to Aron’s practice after only an hour when he’d had to catch Arina as she fell out of her bedroom window.

Aron stood in front of the boxy little television, head hung in shame. Arina sat in their father’s lap, glittery band-aid and one of their mother’s ‘magic kisses’ on her now-bruised elbow. Their mother stood over Aron, fangs unsheathed and pupils dilated.

“Aron Erlichman, would you explain why you sent your sister to steal chocolate for you?” she said.

“I wanted chocolate, and if Arina stole it then it’d be her in trouble instead of me,” Aron said before he could think a lie up.

Arina scoffed in shock.

“What you did was incredibly dangerous,” his father said, “Arina could have been seriously hurt.” Aron’s father always underestimated the seriousness of ‘pishtaco problems’ as he called them. Aron’s mother found it endearing. Aron found it convenient.

“I didn’t know she was going to climb out the window!” Aron said, “I thought she was gonna walk through the house like a smart person!”

Arina spat her tongue out at him.

“People under Command don’t think about things like that,” his mother said, “All they can think about is fulfilling the Command, no matter the risk or the cost.”

“Don’t you ever Command Arina to do anything like that again, young man,” his father said, “You have to be responsible with your abilities.”

“Yes, Dad,” Aron mumbled.

His father sighed. “Honey?”

“Aron Erlichman,” his mother said, “Look at me and clear your mind.”

Aron’s head snapped up and his brain fuzzed into static. His mother loomed over him and caught his jaw in her hand.

“You will never Command your sister, father, or anyone in our family. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Good.” His mother let go, and relief flooded through Aron as her initial Command dropped. “Apologise to your sister.”

“I’m sorry, Arina. I’ll get you a giant lollipop next time we’re at the market.”

Arina grinned. Their father shook his head. Even without his Command, Aron had his little sister under his thumb.

* * *

**Part 3; Direct and Triggered**

Aron had let the issue sit for a week before he approached his mother about it. He was on his best behaviour all day; cleaned his room, offered to clear the table after dinner, helped Arina with her science homework and gave her one of his prized Spiderman stickers when she finished. Looking back, his mother had obviously been expecting him to pry further into his abilities as a pishtaco. He was hardly subtle about his intentions, but he was already aware of his mother’s reluctance to teach him.

“Mom?” Aron said as he dried the dishes, “How were you able to Command me without me even looking at you?”

His mother sighed and dropped the pan into the sink, “Because I’m your mother.”

“Is that _really_ the reason?”

“No, but that’s the reason I’m giving you.”

“But Mom!”

“Don’t you ‘but Mom’ me!”

“How am I supposed to be responsible with my abilities if you won’t teach me about them?!”

His mother rubbed her temples.

“Mom?”

“Finish those dishes and I’ll tell you.”

Aron grabbed another plate and dried it with a triumphant grin. His mother left the pan in soak and poured herself a large glass of brandy as Aron’s back was turned. The brandy has gone down faster ever since she’d began teaching Aron about his nature, and she was still pretending not to notice that fact. She sat in her favourite armchair and drank half the brandy in one gulp.

“I’m done, Mommy!” Aron chirped.

His mother nodded and patted the arm of the chair. Aron sat on the arm, chin in his hands and elbows on his knees.

“Aron, sweetie,” his mother said, “There are two kinds of Command. There’s the Direct Command, like I taught you to do with Arina.”

“And I’m not allowed to do anymore,” Aron said. His tone was matter-of-fact and almost rehearsed.

“Yes. And the other is a Triggered Command. It’s a little more complicated, but only because there’s more steps to it.”

Aron’s eyes were wide as saucers.

“The idea is to give the person a cue to do something. Like whenever I use your full name you do whatever I tell you to do afterwards.”

“So if I use someone’s full name, they’ll do as I say?”

“No!” his mother shrieked, and Aron jumped, “That was just an example, it doesn’t work like that! When you were very little, I Commanded you to do exactly as I told you whenever I said ‘Aron Erlichman’. And I Commanded Arina to do the same with ‘Arina Erlichman’.

“Oh,” Aron sounded disappointed, “I think I understand. You give someone a Command and a word to make them do the Command.”

“Exactly. You got that quickly.”

Aron took that as praise.

* * *

**Part 4; Jorelly**

Aron was thirteen, and Jorel twelve, before Aron even considered using his Command again. A splash of his mother’s brandy in the bottom of a mug of squash, and a casual “it’s blackcurrant and _raspberry_ flavour” whenever Jorel mentioned the funny taste, was enough to get young Jay tipsy enough for the Command to work. It stayed innocent, Aron Commanding Jorel to do his homework for him, Commanding Jorel to learn to mimic Aron’s handwriting, Commanding Jorel to forget he’d done Aron’s homework. As Aron reached fourteen, he began to Command Jorel to sit still as Aron fed from Jorel’s shoulder, then forget the whole happening.

“Time flies when you’re chilling with your best friend,” Aron would tell Jorel. Jorel would agree and finish his squash.

His father noticed that Aron would feed from him less. Aron claimed he’d learnt to suck the weight faster. His father didn’t believe him but his mother worried enough about Aron already, so his father never mentioned it to her.

It was just after New Year, Aron was fourteen and Jorel thirteen, when Aron first thought to try a Triggered Command. The pair were laid under the swings in the park, stolen bottle of whiskey leant against Jorel’s side, almost empty.

“Hey, J-D?” Aron said.

Jorel looked across at him, “Yeah?”

Aron stared at him.

“Dude, what?”

Aron continued to stare.

“This is getting a little gay, man, what do you want?”

“Whenever I call you Jorelly, you’re going to do whatever I say.”

“What?”

Aron stared up at the sky. “Forget about it, Jorelly.”

Jorel was silent for several seconds. The swings creaked above them.

“You want a swig?” Jorel said.

Aron took the offered bottle and finished it. Jorel passed out an hour later. Aron fed from his arm and carried him home.

* * *

**Part 5; Get out of my house**

Matt was seventeen, Aron sixteen and Jorel fifteen, when Matt first started to get into cooking. He’d always been Mommy's boy helping in the kitchen, but he didn’t start looking into new recipes or experimenting with his mother’s recipes until he moved out and had a crappy little apartment to himself, complete with a crappy little kitchen. While the food he cooked was only as good as the basic ingredients he could afford, the food was filling and comforting, and he would occasionally even fill his jeans better than he’d like. He usually lost it after one of Jeff’s piss-ups. He blamed it on the drunken puking.

Matt woke up on the floor of his crappy little apartment living room. A slightly familiar scrawny man was laid across Matt’s settee, a slightly bigger slightly familiar man was laid almost under Matt’s settee, and a much bigger slightly familiar man was laid through Matt’s bathroom door. All three were sound asleep. Matt’s head was hangover-heavy, and he groaned.

The man on the settee stirred. He sat up and pressed a hand to his head. Matt stood, shaky and stomach churning, hair all stood on its ends. The man sent him a startled look and rubbed his eyes.

“Who are you and why are you in my house?” Matt said.

The man under the settee rolled out, stood and dashed for the bathroom. He tripped straight over the third man and vomited. The third man grunted, rolled over and snored.

“Nice,” the scrawny man said with a grimace.

Matt threw an empty beer can at the man. Why were Jeff’s friends such a bunch of shady bastards? “Who are you, why are you in my house, and when are you getting the fuck out?”

“I’m Aron, my buddy messing up your bathroom is Jorel. No idea about Sleeping Beauty there.”

“Great, why are you here?”

“Your place was closer to Jeff’s than any of ours, so you said we could crash here.”

“Doesn’t sound like something I’d say.”

“You definitely did. Jeff kinda had to talk you into it, though. I think he was just trying to kick us out quicker – did you see that Audrey bitch macking on him?”

“No.”

“Lucky you.”

Jorel hurled again, now hugging the toilet.

“Jorel saw,” Aron said, snickering, “Jorel remembers.”

“Could he remember somewhere else?!” Matt said. The third man grunted in his sleep.

“What are you getting mad about, Curls? You let us in, remember?”

“Yeah, drunk! Get your friends and go!”

“Only one of them’s mine.”

“Leave!” Matt yelled.

The third man groaned and sat up. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

“No. This is _my_ house!”

The third man leant through the door and scanned the crappy little apartment. “You got a real flat little house here, man.”

“It’s still _mine_ and _you_ need to get out!”

The third man looked Matt up and down and sniffed. He grimaced and turned around. He swore and scooted further into the bathroom.

“Wrong way, asshole!” Matt followed him.

The third man was sat on the floor, already holding Jorel’s hair out of his face and rubbing circles into his back as Jorel coughed into the toilet. Thin vomit dripped down the wall next to them and Matt groaned.

“Hey man,” the third man said to Matt, “I know you’re a little territorial, but d’ya think you can get this kid something to eat? He’s in a pretty rough shape.”

“M no a kid,” Jorel mumbled.

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“You’re a kid, kid.”

“You ain’t much older!”

“Shush.”

Jorel groaned and clutched his stomach. Smears of blood clung to his back, just above his hip. Matt sighed and traipsed into crappy little kitchen, threw the fridge open and took out a pair of foil-covered bowls.

Aron got up and padded into the kitchen. He grabbed Matt’s store-brand bathroom cleaner and packet of cloths. “Sorry about Jay, man. He doesn’t handle hangovers well.”

“Whatever,” Matt said, and threw a box of painkillers at him.

“Thanks, Curls.”

Matt rolled his eyes and put one of the bowls in the microwave, throwing the balled foil in the bin.

Aron fed Jorel the painkillers as the third man doused the wall in the cleaner. Aron took one of the cloths and started to scoop the mess up.

“You want a hand there?” the third man said.

“We’ve got it,” Aron said, “Jorelly, come help me clean this up.

Jorel sat up and snatched one of the cloths, the nausea and sluggishness vanished. He scrubbed at the mess from the top and Aron cleaned it up at the bottom. The third man just stared at them, confused and gormless.

The cloths flushed away and Jorel slumped into Aron’s side. Aron patted his head and Jorel only whined in protest. The third man helped Aron drag Jorel back to the settee as the microwave beeped.

Matt split the rice and curry from the day before between four mugs and practically threw them at the men.

“Thanks, asshole,” the third man said.

Matt snatched the mug back. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Dude!”

“Answer me!”

“My name is George Ragan, I am eighteen years old, and I am an alcoholic.”

“Hi, George,” Jorel and Aron chorused, and George laughed.

Matt passed the mug back with a glare, and George took a hug bite and moaned.

“Hungry?” Aron said.

“Yeah,” George said, “This is nearly as good as a blow-job.”

“It’s just leftovers,” Matt said.

“It’s damn good, take the fucking compliment.”

“Why do you have to phrase it like that?!”

“Take it, you curly bitch.”

Matt glared at him and took a large mouthful of his own portion.

“Keep looking at me like that and I might just be back… man...”

“Matty. And you’d better not, stay the fuck out of my house.”

“Where’d you get this from anyway. I need a name, a location and a price. And how likely they are to be a drug front, I ain’t going through that shit again.”

“I got most of it from Atcell, except the turmeric. I got that from a little indie shop, massive bag for like, two dollars. It’s great.”

“What?”

“You mean you made this?” Jorel said.

“Yeah,” Matt said, “There was a carton of coconut milk in the discount corner so I was like ‘Hey Imma make curry’ so I bought the coconut milk and made a curry.”

“As you do,” Aron said.

“A guy needs a hobby.”

“That’s true,” George said. He dropped his fork into his empty mug and burped.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Matt said.

“It was one,” George stood up and took Jorel and Aron’s mugs, “You got liquid, right?”

“What?”

“Washing up liquid?”

“Yeah, under the sink.”

“There we go,” George said as he headed into the crappy little kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

“Washing up. Duh. Bit dumb, ain’t ya?”

“No, just a little confused about why you’re still here.”

“I was drunk and then there was food.”

“And now there isn’t food.”

“No shit,” George turned the tap full blast and shoved his sleeves up, “You wanna clean up yourself? Shut up, man, let me appreciate your begrudged hospitality.”

“Fine. If you’re gonna be like that I might let you around more often.”

“Might? You think you can stop me?”

“Don’t push it, Georgie-Porgie.”

“I promise I’ll pay you. Mostly in booze, but I will pay you.”

“Cook for yourself, asshole!”

“C’mon Curly, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship!”

“Fuck that!”

Aron laughed.

* * *

**Part 1; You used me**

“Didn’t take much to make sure Matty and Georgie kept going to Jeff’s piss-ups,” Aron said, still slung against Jorel, “Jeff thought they were pretty funny, especially when Jordon was helping George bully Matty.”

“So you can hypnotise people and you like cheap curry,” Jorel said, “What the fuck are you?”

“Pishtaco.”

“Fish taco?”

“No, _pishtaco_. I suck people’s weight. I’m the only reason George and Dylan aren’t the size of houses right now.”

“What?”

“When they put weight on, I suck it off again.”

“…Dude.”

“Not like that!” Aron flicked Jorel’s ear, “Only their weight. I need it to survive.”

“But I’ve seen you eat regular food!”

“I _can_ eat regular food. Most food, anyway. But I can’t survive on it. I have to feed on people, it’s not a lifestyle choice!”

“So you fed on our friends?”

“Yep. Kept y’all skinny, you’re welcome.”

“You bit us and fed on us?”

“Yes.”

“Do the others know?”

“No! I made sure you were unconscious. Or Commanded you to forget about it.”

“How much have you been Commanding me?”

“Not all that much, actually. I mean, you used to do most of my homework, and I had to Command you to eat properly a couple of times.”

“So you could eat!”

“Not always!”

“What?” Jorel scoffed, “You’re saying you put me first a couple of times?”

“You’re my best god damned friend; of course you came first! A lot of fucking times!”

“You _used_ me!”

“I looked after you!”

“So you could use me!”

Aron screamed and pushed himself away from Jorel. Jorel flailed backwards and pain shot up his hips and thighs as his frozen legs forced him to stretch unnaturally. He righted himself, glaring a hole into Aron’s back.

“Let me go,” Jorel said.

“No,” Aron turned back around, “I’m not done.”

“Then hurry the fuck up. I’m cold and wanna punch you.”

“Poor puppy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Would you rather I called you Jorelly?”

“No. Quit controlling me.”

“I don’t control you completely. Bet I could, though.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“You couldn’t stop me,” Aron stepped up to Jorel, “You’d do whatever I say, no matter what. No betrayal, no escape, no end. You’d be my sidekick, my main meal and my partner.”

“I’d be your slave!”

“I don’t see a problem with that.”

Jorel spat at him. Aron stepped back, and it just missed him.

“But that’s a level of petty I ain’t gonna sink to.”

“I’m _so_ proud of you,” Jorel said, “You don’t enslave people, just manipulate and eat them.”

“For survival! What do you want me to do – _ask_ you? ‘Hey J-pup, ya mind if I just dig my great fucking teeth into ya and suck off ya body fat’ - what are you gonna say to something like that?!”

Jorel stammered.

“It’s not like I could just have told you all this shit!”

“You’re telling me now! You could have told me years ago!”

“What? You think you’d have just let me feed off of you if you’d known?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t even know you existed before today!”

“I definitely existed before today.”

“No, I mean like… pishtaco! I didn’t know they existed – you’re not exactly a common thing!”

Aron huffed a laugh. “At least I’m unique, right? One of a fucking kind.”

Jorel glared at him.

“Come on, Jay. My closest friends are turning their backs on me, give me a little sympathy.”

“No.”

Aron sighed.

* * *

**Part 6; Focus on me**

It was shortly after Shady Jeff had left Hollywood Undead. The remaining band sat on the floor of Matt's crappy little apartment, pre-drinks gone too hard, several empty bottles chucked in the corner to be cleaned up tomorrow. A large bowl of Matt’s home-made ravioli sat in the fridge, plenty enough for the six of them.

“Jorelly, go to sleep,” Aron said. Jorel fell straight back and began to snore.

Dylan giggled, half-smoked rollie clenched in one hand. “I can’t… fucking… tell if you the bitch or he the bitch… bitch!”

Aron took the rollie off of him and took a drag. Dylan let him, grinning up at him. Aron crouched down, looked Dylan in the eye and Commanded him; “Focus on me and only on me.”

Dylan stared at him, slack-jawed and gormless. Aron rose and Dylan’s gaze followed him as he stalked around the room. Three Commands later, Jordon was unconscious and George and Matt were staring at Aron with the same empty-headed look as Dylan.

Aron dropped back down next to Jorel and finished the rollie. He sat there, swimming in the high in the near-silence, idly rubbing Jorel’s thigh. Jorel grunted in his sleep. Aron sighed and scanned the humans. His mother had once told him that Commanding too many people at once would make him sick but could never explain why. Aron had realised that if his mother couldn’t explain something, she was probably lying about it.

“George, Dylan,” Aron said, voice slurred, “Whenever you hear the words ‘Georgie-Porgie’ or ‘Dilly-doo’, you’re gonna feel real hungry. You’re gonna grab the nearest, easiest meal you can get your hands on and you’re gonna eat _all_ of it, no matter how much there is.”

George and Dylan stared at him.

“And Matty,” Aron sat up and pulled his phone out, “This is a little experimental. You should be honoured.”

Matt grinned like he’d heard the best news in his life. Aron chuckled and sent Matt the message.

“Check your phone,” Aron said, “You see that message I sent you?”

Matt pulled the phone out. A few seconds later, the message came through; ‘ye’.

“When you see that word, you’re gonna cook. First opportunity you get. And it’s gonna be the unhealthiest comfort food you can manage. Extra cheese, cooked in butter, sauce full of cream – whatever. And then you’re gonna share that meal with your friends. Specifically Georgie-Porgie and Dilly-doo here.”

George and Dylan scrambled to their feet and ran for the kitchen. Aron giggled as they tore the fridge open, grabbed the bowl of ravioli and started devouring it with their hands.

“Close Matty’s fridge, goddamn guys!” Aron called.

Dylan shoved the fridge closed, leaving cheesy ravioli filling across the front.

“Matty, go to sleep.”

Matt fell back, slumping over Jordon.

Aron downed the last of the whiskey and tossed the bottle in the corner. George threw the empty bowl in the sink and rubbed his mouth. Dylan burped and smacked his lips.

“Go to sleep,” Aron called.

George and Dylan collapsed to the kitchen floor in complete unison. George snored. Aron snickered. He hadn’t even been sure they were still under his command.

Aron shook Jorel’s arm. “Jorelly, wake up.”

Jorel groaned awake and sat up. “What the fuck happened?”

“Everyone fell asleep. Buncha lightweights,” Aron lied, “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Matty’s bed.”

“What? Aron, that’s mean!”

“It’ll be funny! Can you imagine his face?” Aron pulled Jorel up and lead him to Matty’s crappy little bedroom, “We come back out after and they’ll never even know it was us. We joke it was George and Jordon, and they’ll probably play along, you know what they’re like.”

“What if one of them wakes up?”

“They won’t!” Aron sat on Matty’s unmade bed and pulled Jorel onto his lap, “Trust me, puppy.”

“Don’t call me that, it’s weird.”

“It’s cute.”

“I ain’t cute.”

“You are, J-puppy.”

“I’m not. That’s really gay.”

Aron gave Jorel’s thigh a squeeze. “Yeah it is.”

Jorel shoved Aron down and followed him, laying on top of him and pressing a hard kiss to his mouth.

* * *

**Part 1; So why are you telling me?**

“George and Jordon were a little too happy to take the blame for that,” Aron said, “You think there’s something they’re not telling us?”

“I don’t know,” Jorel said, “I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Alright, Drama Queen.”

“Shut up! You’re the one stood there with your teeth out!”

“You like ‘em.”

“They weird me out!”

Aron grinned and stepped up to Jorel. Jorel put his arms up in defence, keeping Aron a good metre away.

“You wanna feel ‘em?” Aron said.

“Already did, I know those fucking things are real.”

“I didn’t mean with your fingers,”

“You’re asking if you can bite me? I’m worth getting permission from now – I’ve moved up in the world!”

“No, stupid!” Aron leant up over Jorel’s arms and managed to plant a peck on Jorel’s lips before Jorel shoved him and sent him sprawling backwards.

“Don’t fucking kiss me!” Jorel spat, “Stay the fuck away from me, you manipulative bastard _freak_!”

Aron stared up at him, slack-jawed.

“It worked, didn’t it? Your little experiment with Matty?” Jorel pressed his hands into his head and mentally begged his legs to move, “All those times he brought random dishes to the studio – he’d burn his hands on them! They were still hot! And you’d just sit there and shout for Georgie-Porgie and Dilly-doo in that fucking sing-song voice of yours and they’d just… drop whatever! George nearly broke his guitar! Dylan just vaulted himself over shit and… we never thought anything of it! All these signs you were using us and we just never caught them! You just sat there and watched them stuff their faces on goulash or mac n cheese or whatever, then you got us drunk and you _ate_ us! Like fucking _cattle_!”

“It’s not like it was every day!” Aron yelled.

“And what else did you do?”

“What?”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you never Commanded the band, _as_ the band. You never got us to drop ideas _you_ didn’t like, keep up ideas _you_ wanted to do. Tell me you never used your command-control-whatever-shit to turn _our_ band into the Aron Erlichman Show.”

Aron stared at his hands. “I can’t.”

“What?”

“I’d be lying if I said that.”

“You controlled the band?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my fucking God, Aron.”

“For good reason!” Aron stood back up, “Without me, Matty wouldn’t have any lines at all!”

“He didn’t _want_ lines! He said, explicitly, more than once, that he wanted to stay at the back, behind his drums. And then the next day he’d be playing hype man!”

“I pulled him out of his shell!”

“You forced him to do something he didn’t want to do! When we _had_ someone who was perfectly willing to!”

Aron dragged his hands down his face.

“And what else? Jordon’s serious verses? The choruses George wrote? The bass line Dylan helped me with? Did you control us into dropping them?”

“Command. It’s called Command.”

“Answer the fucking question.”

Aron sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“Because _you_ didn’t like them.”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t just...” Jorel groaned, “We were supposed to work _together_. It wasn’t for you to just take charge - this is what we’re kicking you out over!”

“I know.”

“So why don’t you just do it again?”

“What?”

“Command us to forgive you. You were just bragging about being able to enslave me, why don’t you just Command us to forget it all and accept you as whatever fucking leader you think you are.”

“I can’t. Little Miss Good Girl ratted on me.”

“What?”

Aron laughed. It was short and bitter. Like him. “Arina told Mom. And Mom Commanded me not use my abilities to force the band to stay with me. I can’t do anything to any of you, not make you forget, not make you forgive me, nothing. I gotta try to deal with it like a human and I can’t.”

“Arina knew?”

“Arina always knows. I don’t really have anyone else I can vent to. She can’t relate, she’s human like our dad, but at least she knows what I’m talking about.”

“Is that was this is? You want to vent to me like I’m gonna forgive you?”

“No. I knew you’d be mad about it all.”

“No shit. So why _are_ you telling me?”

Aron smiled weakly. “Tell me honestly, Jorelly, did you ever love me?”

“Yes,” Jorel said before the Command could kick in, “Yes. You were my best goddamn friend. I adored you and making you leave was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

“And that’s why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“What do you want me do? I love you so fucking much but you’re tearing the band apart! You’re tearing _me_ apart! And now you’re telling me you’ve been using me and _eating_ me and-” he stopped. He was shaking. “Was that you? Did you Command me to love you?”

“No! No, I swear that was all you,” Aron grabbed Jorel and buried his face in Jorel’s shoulder, “I swear I never, ever Commanded anything like that! It was all you, it was always you.”

“I can’t trust you. Not now you’ve told me this.”

Aron hugged Jorel’s waist tight. Jorel looped his arms loosely around Aron, staring off over the park.

“Do you want me to make it easier?” Aron said.

“What?”

Aron looked up at him. “When you wake up tomorrow, you’re going to hate me.”

“No I’m not. I can’t.”

“You will. Someone mentions my name, you’re gonna feel sick right to your soul. Think of me and your skin’s gonna burn and your head’s gonna hurt.”

“It won’t.”

“It will, Jorelly. Next time you wake up, you’re gonna hate me just like that.”

“You can’t do this to me!” Jorel pulled Aron off of him and shook him roughly, “Take it off!”

“No!”

“You have to!”

“I won’t.”

“Aron!” Jorel spluttered, “I can’t look back on _anything_ without you there!”

“I know.”

“You were everything to me! You’re there in nearly every goddamn memory I have!”

“Better make some more then.”

“I don’t _want_ to!”

“You think I do?! Fucking hell, Jorel, you’re the only reason I’m alive! _You’re_ the reason I laid low when Hunters were skulking around Inglewood, _you’re_ the reason I didn’t try to force my human side and starve myself, _you’re_ the reason I didn’t just off myself – more than fucking once! You are the _only_ thing that’s kept me stable. And now I’ve just gotta… give you up. And watch you go off and watch you change… and you’re gonna love someone else and make awesome music and leave me behind.”

“We can work something out!”

“No we can’t. I had too much power over you and it all went to my head. I can’t save it. I can’t save us.”

“And you’re not even gonna try.”

“No. Or we’ll just do it all again further down the line.”

Jorel pulled Aron back into the hug and squeezed him. “Please don’t this to me.”

“Too late. And I’m gonna do something even worse to you Jorelly; you’re never going to think about this conversation. Ever.”

“What?”

“As soon as you walk out of these park gates, Jorelly, you will never think about this conversation again.”

“But why?”

Aron pulled away and forced a grin. He wiped his face on his hands and let his teeth retract back up. “You’ll remember, but not directly. Every time Matty cooks, every time you hear ‘Georgie-Porgie’ or ‘Dilly-doo’ or see one of ‘em chowing down on something artery-blocking, every time you play one of your Swan Songs, you’re gonna feel like you’re forgetting something. Something big and important, and maybe even feel a little twang of hatred, but you just won’t be able to think why.”

“Why?”

“Because I Commanded you to.”

“Why?”

“Because I did.”

“But fucking _why_? You tell me all this shit, make a huge deal out of telling me you love me, make me hate you, and now you’re fucking with my head – and for _what_?!”

“Because I’m fucking petty, that’s why!” Aron snapped, “I can’t just let you walk away and move on. I just gotta fuck with you.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“Yeah. And tomorrow you’ll really mean it.”

“I mean it now.”

“No you don’t. You love me.”

“I loved you.”

“And tomorrow you’ll hate me.”

“Bite me.”

“What?”

Jorel pulled his shirt up to his ribs. “Just once, have permission to bite me.”

“Why the fuck would you want me to do that?”

Jorel shrugged. “My head’s spinning, man. I don’t even know if I’m more mad about you feeding off me or about you doing it in secret.”

“You’re saying you’d have let me?”

“A man’s gotta eat. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, for a second. It can’t be that bad, I’ve been feeding off Arina since she was seven and she’s always been fine.”

“You fed off your own sister?”

“From the wrist. I don’t bite everyone on the waist.”

“I’m just special?” Jorel managed a grin.

Aron dropped to his knees and extended his fangs back out. “You’ve got more weight there. It’s more direct. It’s just a little too intimate for most people.” He ran his fingers over the thin scabs above Jorel’s hip. “Are you sure you want me to do this?”

“Just bite me, you fucking pussy.”

Aron pulled Jorel’s hips closer and closed his jaw around the side of Jorel’s stomach. His teeth sunk in and Jorel hissed then sighed as a strange wave rippled through his body. Not pleasure but definitely not pain, just a pulse lapping through him to Aron’s mouth, like shooting up in reverse. His legs twitched like they were about to buckle underneath him but he stayed frozen upright. Blood dripped from the wounds, a slow meagre dribble. Aron pulled away and lapped the blood up with his tongue.

Jorel dropped his shirt. “Gimme a blow-job while you’re down there.”

“Ain’t you funny,” Aron stood up.

“Go on. What tastes better, my weight or my cock?”

“Your mouth. It’s quieter that way too.”

“Oh, I’m hurt.”

Aron rolled his eyes. “Just fuck off already.”

“Can’t. You Commanded me not to.”

Aron seized Jorel by the shirt and pulled himself into a hard kiss. Jorel yelped and grabbed Aron’s shoulders as Aron forced his tongue into Jorel’s mouth. Jorel let it, his own tongue catching on the tips of Aron’s fangs as he lapped back. The sharp teeth tore Jorel’s lips and tongue open, blood filled their mouths and dripped down their chins, and pain flashed and flared through Jorel’s jaw until he was crying. Jorel pushed Aron away as he choked for air, spitting blood.

Aron wiped his chin on his hand and grimaced at the red smear. “Are you okay?”

Jorel shook his head, blood and tears dripping from his jaw.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Let me go, Aron.”

“Go where?”

“Back to the bus. We’re touring now.”

“You’ve replaced me?”

“Yeah.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. His name’s Daniel. Graduated from a proper music academy.”

“How nice.”

“Yeah.”

Aron stared at him and wiped at his mouth again. Blood smeared over his jaw and his teeth pulled back into his gums.

“They’re already gonna be full of questions when I get back, just let me go.”

“Fine. Go back to your bus and enjoy your fucking rockstar life, Jorelly.”

Jorel grinned as his legs began to move, pins and needles shooting up and down his muscles with every step. “I will. Try not to stew yourself in your emotions for too long, okay?”

“Don’t pretend you care!”

“This is the last time I can be nice to you, Deuce, better accept it.”

“Fuck you!”

Jorel laughed. His stomach ached with every hollow movement.

The park gates leered up to, then alongside, then they were behind him, and his laughter died. His legs moved like muscle memory, he was drowsy like a hangover without the pain, and he could taste blood and booze-skin-cigarettes-Aron. The night sky leered, and three strangers cowered away from the confused-looking man with the tear-stained face blood dripping from his hung-open mouth. All the other strangers he passed had apparently seen worse and just ignored him.

* * *

**Part 7; Back to the bus and get out of my life**

Jorel fell through the door of the bus and crawled the rest of the way in, body tired and heavy.

“J-Dog?” a voice called, “J-Dog!”

He didn’t know who yelled, or even if it was the same voice both times, but five faces gathered around him, jaws dropped and worried coos as they carried him to the settee.

“What the hell happened?” Jordon said.

“Danny, get water,” George said, “Dylan, get the first aid kit wherever the fuck you put it, Matty get him a change of clothes.”

The three men nodded and skittered off. Jordon put a cushion under Jorel’s head.

Jorel choked a laugh, “Who put you in Command?”

“I did,” George said, “What happened to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“Did you get in a fight?”

“No.”

“Did someone attack you?”

“No.”

“Did you walk into something?”

“No.”

“Then what the fuck?”

Danny came skittering back with a bottle of water, and Dylan launched the first aid kit straight over Danny to George. Jordon helped Jorel to sit up and Jorel took a long drink. The cold water stung his mouth.

George dripped the rubbing alcohol onto the cheap cotton pads. His mother had pulled the kit together, and George had rolled his eyes at her fretting at the time. He dabbed Jorel’s lip gently and Jorel hissed.

“Your lip is fucking shredded, man,” George said. He held Jorel’s head still. “Were you frenching a set of knives or some shit?”

“Yes,” Jorel said.

“The fuck were you doing that for?” Jordon said.

“They came on to me and I couldn’t get away.”

“Sounds… hot?”

“Yeah. Real _sharp_. It was a _slice_.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Matty said, and Dylan laughed awkwardly.

“What happened?” Danny said, “Do we need to call the police?”

“No. I don’t remember what happened. I was taking a shortcut through the park, then I was the park and covered in blood. I don’t remember anything in between.”

His bandmates stared at him in mixes of doubt and concern.

“I’m kinda hungry,” Jorel said and pulled his shirt off. Blood clung all down the front, and a couple of thin smears clung somehow to the back. “Tell me there’s food.”

“We could order Thai,” Jordon said.

“You mean Band Bitch ain’t cooked for us? What are we keeping you for?!”

“Ha-ha, no I haven’t,” Matt said and threw a clean shirt at Jorel, “No where for George to clean up. And anyway; we’re rockstars. Let’s just order food. We have money now.”

“We have _money_ now!” Jordon cheered.

“So now you two,” Matt pointed at George and Dylan, “Can get fat on your own coin.”

Jorel chuckled. His throat itched like he wanted to say something.

“Whatever, just go find a menu,” George said, “And you,” he turned to Jorel, “Look like you need to sleep. We’ll wake you up when the food’s here.”

“Fuck that,” Jorel said.

“You can barely stand up, Jay, go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to. I’m hungry.”

“I know, we’ll wake you up when the food gets here.”

“I don’t want to wake up.”

The men stared at him.

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t want to wake up,” Jordon said.

“I just don’t want to wake up,” Jorel said, “Not like ‘I want to die’ just like… I just don’t want to wake up. Something’s gonna happen when I wake up.”

“What’s gonna happen?”

“I don’t know. I just feel really fucking weird right now.”

“Not surprising with a face like that,” George said.

“I’m still the handsomest guy here.”

“In your fucking dreams, Jorelly.”

Jorel’s stomach lurched.

* * *

**Part 8; Precaution**

“Hey Arina? You got five minutes?”

“Not really,” Arina opened the door, still forcing the earring through her ear, “I got a date tonight, remember? I told you yesterday.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Aron said. Three days before, his first solo tour was booked. He stepped into his sister’s apartment, half-litre bottle of vodka hung from his hand. “Literally five minutes. Probably less. I just need you to hold me to what I’m gonna do before I can pussy out of it.”

“I’m _going_ on a _date_ , Aron!”

“Five minutes! It’s a pishtaco thing, just give me a mirror and I’ll be gone.”

Arina groaned and finally got the earring through her earlobe. She stomped back to her bedroom and threw the hand mirror at Aron. “Be quick, then be gone!”

“Fine!” Aron put the mirror on the counter, opened the vodka and chugged the whole bottle.

Arina dropped her necklace and ran into the kitchen as Aron threw the bottle into her bin. “What the fuck are you doing!”

“A precaution,” Aron held up the mirror, stared his reflection hard in the eye, and focused. “You will never use your Command on any present of future member of Nine Lives.”

Nothing happened. Nothing ever did and nothing ever would. He had no way of telling if it worked without trying to defy it. Aron hiccuped and handed the mirror back to Arina.

“Can you do that?” she said, “Command yourself?”

“Not a fucking clue! Can’t exactly ask Mom, so Imma just try. If it don’t work, tell Mom for me, I’m serious about this shit. Now! Enjoy your date. Use protection. If you run into trouble, call one of girlfriends.”

Aron stumbled out of Arina’s apartment and to the nearest bar.

* * *

**Part 9; Scars**

Years later, a tattoo artist asked Jorel where the little scars on his side came from as she coloured in a piece on his ribs. Jorel said he hadn’t even know he had scars on his side, and his throat burned like he was lying.

**Author's Note:**

> Long A/N is long, just please leave kudos/a comment, it is my life force.
> 
> CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER:  
> Parts 2 and 3 (Aron learning Command) are in 1993  
> Part 4 (Setting 'Jorelly' Command) is in 1996  
> Part 5 (Matt's apartment) is in 1999  
> Part 6 (Setting Georgie-Porgie/Dilly-Doo/ye Commands) is in 2007  
> All Part 1 and 7 (Aron telling Jorel, Jorel goes back to the bus) is in 2010  
> Part 8 (Aron Commanding himself) is in 2011  
> Part 9 (Tattoo artist) is anytime after 2010
> 
> Honestly - how British do I sound going 'his mother' 'his father' and shit?  
> Just to be clear, Aron and mother are pishtacos, Arina and father are human  
> Hands up, who else got sick of their mum using 'because Im your mother' (part 3) as reason for everything? My mam did it constantly because I was an inquisitive little shit  
> I know the phrase "How am I supposed to be responsible with my abilities" (part 3) is a bit complex/technical/buzzword-y for a ten year old, but Aron was parroting his father from part 2 (i.e. the week before)  
> Aron would feed off of Jeff's passed out friends. If he did it often enough on a large enough number of people, he only needed to take very little and the victims wouldn't notice. That would take a lot of effort though, and the more people are involved in this sort of thing the riskier it would get so Aron would probably stick to a few victims. The victims still wouldn't usually notice, and if they did they'd blame it on something else like undereating or being drunk (as Matt is mentioned to do in part 5)  
> Audrey (Part 5) is Jeff's ex according to the wiki. I don't know if that's true or when they got together, and I'm not about to pry into people's lives that deeply.  
> When you're in your late teens anyone younger than you is a child (J3T calling J-Dog a kid in part 5). That's just how it be. I'm twenty as of uploading this fic and a lot of the HU army are teenagers or younger so you are all children to me. I feel old.  
> Atcell is a T$rg$t/T£sc£/W$lm$rt/£sd£ sort of shopping centre; convenient and cheap for customers, but generally shitty towards staff. I made the chain up to avoid getting sued if I write about them in stories, whether fanwork or original. The full name is Haul Atcell, which is an anagram for Actual Hell, in reference to staff get treated.  
> After Deuce left Matty stopped having lines (or at least verses, he did a lot of back up and screams and the odd bridge/line) which suggests that Deuse forced Matty to have lines. Obviously, I don't know this for sure and am only speculating for the sake of story conflict, I don't have any actual proof of it so don't take that as a fact.  
> I'll leave it up to you whether or not Aron Commanded Jorel in their relationship. For me, he didn't but I'm leaving it open.  
> Yes the title of Part 7 (Back to the bus and get out of my life) is an El Urgencia reference.  
> Aron has a reflection and I can explain that! The reason vampires (assuming pishtacos count as a breed of vampire) don't have reflections is because the supposed magical properties of silver that would reject them for being unholy. Early mirrors were made by setting glass over silver, so the glass would filter the worst of the magic properties but not all, so the vampire wouldn't have a reaction to the silver (unless they touched an uncovered part of the silver) but the silver would still reject the reflection causing it not to show up. Modern mirrors are usually made by setting glass over something (usually wood or plastic) that's coloured silver - and silver pigment rarely has an actual silver, or at least not enough to cause a reaction like pure silver would. Thus, vampire reflections do show up in modern silverless mirrors. I say as if vampires are real.
> 
> It took three attempts to upload this. I think my internet provider just doesn't like Ao3.  
> Commanded, 8th September 2017 - 23rd September 2017, and I'm done. Back to the original WIP.  
> Laurel Silver


End file.
